False Oath
by Asuka
Summary: How can I call myself a knight when I have become a monster...?


**False Oath**

  
_Note: I'm seriously tired of the "borus killd all teh karayins. i h8 him!!11 grr!!" attitude of some people I know, so I wrote this little one-shot. It's pretty short and meaningless, and it was just off the top of my head. A vignette, I guess. I should probably make an attempt at writing a real story with him, eventually. At any rate, it's my first Suikoden fic. Enjoy._

Disclaimer: I don't own Suikoden III or the characters within. If I did, I would be filthy rich and Franz would be my love slave. 

* * * * *

There was a time when I could still look at myself in the mirror every morning. Rising before the cock crows when the glimmer of false dawn peeks over the horizon, garb myself in my underclothes and armor, gird my sword to my hips, and make my way to the training fields. Practice. Swinging the sword while my mind wandered on to other things. 

Namely Lady Chris. 

My captain. Remote and beautiful, like a winter sunset, moonlight in her hair and lavender in her eyes. She's always so _professional_, so _distant_, as if she isn't really here with the rest of us... as if her mind wishes it were somewhere else. There's a sadness there behind that stern facade and that determination to be our captain, first and foremost. 

Her smiles are rare, and even more rarely directed at me. But I live for them. I only wish she knew. 

I don't know how to tell her that... especially not with this damned weight on my shoulders. 

If she knew what I had done... that I... and then I _lied_ to her - she'd never want to see me again. And I couldn't bear that. 

I didn't mean to do it. I swear I didn't. 

It all just fell apart. Goddess, how could I... 

...how could I break my promise? 

* * * * *

_Eyes fell upon the burning thatch and the screaming people running haphazardly through the main thoroughfare in a vain attempt to escape the unexpected wrath of the intruders. The village was wreathed in flames and screams-- _

--and Borus Redrum only saw red. 

(You worthless scum. You'll pay for what you did to us. You'll pay. Oh yes you will.) 

He rode blindly into the midst of the fracas, the hissing sound of steel ringing against the edge of the scabbard as he drew it. Two Karayan men came flying at him from both flanks with curved blades of their own, desperation and rage inscribed in their eyes... the tenacity of those who would protect their loved ones at all costs. 

Blinded by bloodlust, unknowing and uncaring, he cut them down like swathes of wheat in an open field. 

A shrill scream pierced his awareness enough to turn his head. A young woman stared at him openmouthed, shrieking in terror, apparently frozen to the spot. In her arms was a small child, no more the three, sobbing as she clung to her mother. 

He rode forward, sword outstretched. 

The action galvanized the woman, and she dropped the child just before Borus' sword sliced through her windpipe. A hiss of air and a gurgling sigh was the last sound she uttered before crumpling to the ground... a lifeless pile of flesh. 

Her child fared no better; the little girl only managed a few steps before he rode her down, crushing her small body beneath the weight of his mount's hooves. 

(The less of you the better) 

"You're Borus Redrum, aren't you?" 

Pause. With a slow turn he found himself facing a haggard-looking middle-aged man in strange armor, wielding a one-handed blade. He appeared to be missing an eye. His wolfish features were coolly removed from the carnage surrounding them. A woman stood with him, dressed in turquoise with a sword of her own. 

And, the red still blinding him, Borus accepted their challenge. 

* * * * *

How can a man call himself a man when he becomes a monster? 

...I lost control. I lost myself. 

Killing your enemy on the field of battle is an honorable act. And your enemy understands the risk he takes - when he dons armor, accepts a weapon and faces another in armed conflict... he expects his life to be endangered. He expects it to be taken. 

Myriam and Lanchet understood this truth. 

What the Grasslanders did was treacherous. What they did was dishonorable. 

But what of those women and children? What did they have to do with the actions of their leaders? 

I look at my hands and I see red - but it's no longer my rage. It's their blood. 

And now I can no longer look in the mirror without seeing fire and death, seeing my own face contorted in a berserker's rage as my sword takes the life of that mother and her child. 

Even my friends don't believe me. Percival knows what happened, and he says he understands, but... 

...it's not okay. It isn't. 

I can't tell her. I just can't. Even if I must live with this secret the rest of my life... 

Forgive me, Chris. 

* * * * *


End file.
